The House that Hustle Built, Part 1

by Nisa Santiago

  Before long, the couple was groping each other, kissing, and ready for some hot and heavy action. Cash was so horny and so hard, his dick hurt, and Pearla was nearly naked.

  “Let’s go to the bedroom,” she suggested, pulling at his shirt and leading him into the bedroom.

  Cash felt he needed to make it up to her big time, so he got down on his knees and began kissing his way up Pearla’s legs, spreading them. “I wanna taste you,” he said.

  She couldn’t wait. She moaned from the sensation of his lips kissing the tender warm flesh between her legs. She leaned back, and he pulled her forward more, her ass on the edge of the bed.

  Maneuvering her panties down her legs, Cash tossed them to the floor. He then wasted no time in diving in, eating her out like she was dessert.

  “Ooooh! Ugh! Ooooh!” she cooed, feeling Cash’s tongue lapping her pussy, licking, sucking, and feasting on her sexy ass. His tongue was in overdrive, licking his lady from her clit to her asshole and back again.

  Pearla squirmed and moaned loudly. She was losing her mind. She grabbed Cash’s head and held it to her pussy. She was chanting, moaning, and purring like a kitten. The way her man ate pussy, it should be a damn crime. She was grinding on his face, feeling her pussy being devoured like good cooked food. She couldn’t take his wicked tongue, feeling her clit being licked and her pink walls being sucked.

  One minute, she was telling him she was going to come, the next minute she was saying stop. Cash’s oral action had her twisted and confused.

  She bit down on her bottom lip and continued to squirm. “Fuck me!” she cried out.

  Cash was ready to fuck Pearla like there was no tomorrow. He had been backed up for six months and needed to feel the real thing and release his semen into her.

  “Fuck me,” she pleaded. She wanted Cash to put his throbbing dick where his tongue had been moments earlier.

  Cash climbed between her legs, his dick super hard, throbbing for some action. He penetrated her. She was tight and hot and wet. With her legs on his shoulders, he fucked her like a high-paid porn star. Cash tore it up from the back, the front, the side, and the middle. Then all of a sudden, he felt her tense up, he saw her eyes shut, and he heard her scream out, “Oh shit! Oh nooo! Oh shit! I’m fuckin’ coming!”

  Pearla was all over the place, spilling and pouring out her fluids all over the dick. With his dick buried deep inside her, and her muscles milking him, he felt her body tremble and her legs tense up.

  Cash felt wave after wave of come shooting out of her pussy. He loved every minute of it. It was good sex—the best sex. Giving her good dick like this, she had to forgive him and forget. Cash didn’t want her thinking about the past, so he fucked her so good, he wanted to give her amnesia.

  Fifteen minutes later, they were fucking their brains out again.

  ***

  Cash’s trip to Miami had been set. He had his airline ticket and his connections in South Beach. Pablo was a man of his word, and in return, Cash promised to hit him off with ten percent of the profits.

  Prior to his departure for Miami, Cash and Pearla went on a shopping spree. He bought a few Tom Ford suits, some hard-bottom shoes, got a manicure and haircut, and a pair of expensive cuff links. He needed to look legit, not like a thug.

  Pearla gave Cash a ride to JFK Airport in Queens. He came with only a carry-on. His flight was to depart in two hours. He looked so debonair in his expensive suit and hard-bottom shoes. He gave off the air of a serious businessman, no longer looking some playboy thug.

  “How you feel?” she asked.

  “I’m good.”

  “You’ll be okay, baby.”

  He nodded. He’d never been on a plane before, so he was a little nervous. He took a deep breath and then leaned Pearla’s way and gave her a long, passionate kiss good-bye. He stepped out of the car, removed his carry-on from the backseat, and walked into the airport with his ticket in one hand and his luggage in the next to board a nonstop JetBlue flight into Miami.

  ***

  Several hours later, Cash’s flight landed safely in Miami International Airport. Cash couldn’t wait to get things started. Walking through the terminal, the first thing he did was get on his cell phone and connect with Pablo’s people, who had made some arrangements for him.

  The terminal in Miami was just as busy as JFK. Cash followed behind the crowd of arriving passengers toward the exit and into the streets. He was both excited and nervous about being in a different city. He’d spent his whole life in New York. Now he felt like someone different, moving among the crowd dressed in his suit and tie, looking like a businessman taking a business trip.

  He stepped out of the terminal into the beautiful weather of Miami, a popular city within the Sunshine State, with its sandy beaches, ideal weather year round, alluring club life, and beautiful women.

  He got into a cab and told the cabbie, “South Beach.”

  Twenty minutes later, he was checking into the Hilton in downtown Miami. Cash’s hotel room was breathtaking, with a large overstuffed sofa, lovely accent furnishings, massive flat-screen TV, a marble bath featuring a deep soaker tub, and a panoramic view of the white coral sand beaches and the blue ocean water.

  An hour after checking in, there was a knock at the door. Cash answered, and there stood a man—a handsome Cuban wearing khaki shorts, a T-shirt, and white loafers. He was bald, had thick eyebrows, and held a cigar. He looked like he could be related to Pablo.

  “Cash, I presume?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Marc.”

  The two quickly got acquainted with each other, and Cash soon found himself involved in a major car theft operation. They sat out on the balcony drinking Bacardi and Coke and going over every minute detail of how the hustle would go down.

  Marc explained it best when he said, “It’s about supply and demand—give the customers what they want. And high-end luxury cars for a reasonable price is what they want.”

  First, Marc would walk on the lot of a dealership wearing suit and tie, making the salesperson believe he was going to buy a car. He’d take the car for a test-drive and get friendly with the salesperson. During the test-drive, he would subtly exchange the real key for a fake one and continue buttering up the dealer.

  Dealerships in Miami were known for not securely locking up their cars. After closing time, they would come back with the real key during late-night hours and ride off into the dark with a stolen Maserati, Porsche, Lexus, or Range Rover. Then the car would get a new identity through vehicle identification number cloning. It was easy to go to any salvage yard for a VIN.

  Marc talked with experience. He’d done it plenty of times, so his face was too recognizable in Miami. They needed new people with a fresh look.

  He told Cash, “New car thieves use a key. If it’s built by man, then it can be defeated by man.”

  Cash nodded.

  Marc went on to explain to Cash that if they couldn’t get the key from the dealer, they had to look into purchasing a transponder key programmer, which was able to make additional keys for a vehicle. They ranged in price from $7000 to $10,000, but it was easy to find a knock-off on the Internet for $150.

  Cash was learning a whole lot. Technology was advancing on both sides, and he was ready to take advantage of it on the illicit side.

  “We start tomorrow, so rest up and have some fun. This is Miami—beautiful women, beautiful nightlife,” Marc said with a smile.

  ***

  Club 01 on Ocean Drive was Cash’s club of choice for the night. It was the place to be with seductive burgundy and a caramel-colored ceiling, huge leather chairs, a beautiful champagne bar with gemstone chandeliers, and an intimate dance floor.

  He downed champagne and danced with beautiful and seductive-looking women most of the night. Then he saw her, looking stunning in a black halter dress, legs a
s long as a skyscraper, and looking voluptuous and ripe to eat. He offered to buy her a drink, and she accepted. Her name was Melanie.

  Cash was once again falling victim to infidelity. He wanted to be faithful, but he was a creature of habit. He was butt naked on the balcony, fucking Melanie doggy-style, a condom tight around his dick.

  Melanie’s dress was on the floor, shoes kicked off in the corner, as she took his big dick with her legs spread wide. “Fuck me!” she cried out, curved over and gripping the railing to the balcony.

  It was a beautiful night with the multihued skyline displayed in the background. Cash was deep in the pussy, grabbing her hips. He was enjoying the scenery, her lovely backside, and the kaleidoscope of bright colors in the distance. This was living for him. He could definitely get used to this.

  When Cash was done busting a nut, he sent Melanie on her way. He needed his rest. Tomorrow would be a whole new ball game for him, and he was ready to step up to the plate and hit a home run.

  ***

  Cash was busy throughout the day. He’d hired a car service with a driver once he was in Miami to take him around to the lots.

  First, he visited Legend Nation on Southwest 8th Street. There, he took a Mercedes CLS for a test-drive. Mission accomplished. Then it was Miami International Wholesale & Export on Northwest 7th Street, from which he took a Porsche for a test-drive. Then he test-drove a Jaguar from Miami Exotic Cars on Collins Avenue, a Lamborghini from Lamborghini Miami on Biscayne Boulevard, and a pearl-white Bentley from Brickell Luxury Motors on Southwest 8th Street.

  After only three days in Miami, Cash had already gone through dozens of car dealerships and test-drove many cars, switching keys to almost a dozen. On his fourth and fifth days down there, his crew stole countless cars from the dealerships he had frequented.

  Cash made close to seventy-five thousand dollars for his involvement—tax-free cash money. It was the most money he’d ever seen at one time in his entire life. He couldn’t wait to call Pearla and tell her the good news.

  Twenty-Three

  In the past month and a half, Cash had been traveling back and forth from New York to Miami. He had his hustle down to a science. His business in Miami with Marc was going so well, he was able to purchase something nice for himself to drive around in—a midnight blue Porsche Cayman, a two-seat coupe. Cash fell in love with the car, which he drove around Brooklyn flaunting like a pretty new bitch on his arm.

  With money to burn and feeling a good thing could never come to an end, Cash was on top of the world. Getting locked up and doing some time on Rikers Island was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Finally, he was able to hold his own and not depend on Pearla to do everything for him. He was right there by her side, making his ends by the thousands of dollars and feeling at home in New York and Miami.

  While Cash was making a ton of paper in South Beach, his boys were becoming sour because they were still currently stealing low-end cars, and yet he didn’t put them on to his hustle. Petey Jay, Manny, and Darrell felt Cash was being too greedy. He didn’t want to share, and they wondered why. His excuse to them was, it was all Pearla’s money he was spending, but they didn’t believe him.

  But there was one man Cash felt he needed to make amends with, and that was Perez. It still didn’t sit right with him the way Pearla had reneged on their deal. Perez was a dangerous figure in the underworld. Cash was surprised that retribution for their betrayal hadn’t happened yet. He never wanted to be in the crosshairs of a man like Perez.

  Cash reached out to him, via a friend. He arrived at the chop shop in his Porsche and felt nervous like a long-tailed cat in a room filled with rocking chairs.

  “From the sheep to the shepherd, I see,” Perez said, entering the garage, staring intently at Cash.

  “Hey, Perez,” Cash said meekly.

  Perez walked up to Cash and smiled. He looked past Cash and fixed his eyes on the Cayman. “I see you brought me a gift. I like it.”

  “It’s not a gift, Perez. This me.”

  Perez chuckled. “This is you? I like this car.”

  Cash nodded.

  “I see you came up. I’ve been hearing things about you out there, Cash, and obviously, the rumors are true.”

  Cash tossed Perez an envelope.

  Perez caught it and looked at it confused. “And what’s this?”

  “It never sat right wit’ me how Pearla dissed you out of your cut, but I never had the money to change it. So I’m here to make it right.”

  “You’re here to make it right? That’s what you’re telling me?”

  Cash nodded.

  Perez peeped into the envelope and saw the money.

  “It’s seven grand, half of what we agreed upon,” Cash said, feeling like he was doing a good thing.

  Perez chuckled once again. It was a creepy laugh. He positioned himself closer to Cash and placed his arm around him. They both leaned against his Porsche. Cash couldn’t help but feel a tinge of nervousness build up inside of him.

  “You know, I thought about killing you and that bitch for y’all betrayal, but then, I changed my mind.”

  Cash took a deep breath.

  “You wanna know why I changed my mind, Cash?”

  Cash didn’t respond right away. He stood still, feeling Perez’s arm tighten around him. He then responded, “’Cuz you like us?”

  Perez laughed. “You was always a funny dude, Cash. No, not because I liked you, but because I always found you useful. I knew one day you would become more of a benefit to me than a problem, and that day has come. You think you can just walk up into my shop, throw fuckin’ peanuts at me after a few months, and everything’s supposed to work out okay?”

  “What is it that you want?” Cash asked, feeling the lump in his throat.

  “Now that’s the million-dollar question of the day. What is it that I want? I want in on what you have going on down in Miami. You think I wasn’t going to find out?”

  “What?”

  “I hear good things about South Beach, and you owe me big time, Cash. In fact, you owe your fuckin’ life.”

  “Perez, I’m just a small fish in a huge pond.”

  “So shrink the fuckin’ pond. I want in, and I want you to get me in.”

  Cash didn’t know what to say or do. There was no way he was going to allow Perez to come into something he’d started. It was his operation, his connect. Cash started thinking it was a mistake to show up in the first place.

  “I expect to hear from you in a week, Cash, with the answer I expect. And if not, then I’m sorry to say, Cash, but this time, I will see you as a problem. I don’t allow problems to linger around for too long.”

  The two men locked eyes. Cash had no words. He’d put himself in a dangerous predicament, and somehow he had to figure a way out.

  He was about to get into his car, but then he heard Perez shout out, “No, leave the car. Let’s just say you owe me interest, and blue is my favorite color.”

  Cash had no choice but to walk out of the shop with his tail between his legs. Perez had punked him—taken his Porsche and his dignity. But he wasn’t about to allow him into his Miami scheme. He was making too much money. Cash knew he needed to do something before it was too late.

  ***

  They were living like number one stunners—nice cars, money, jewelry, fancy clothing— and now they’d purchased their dream home in Jamaica Estates. Pearla had hustled all her life to end up living this way. The house came with hardwood flooring, granite countertops, crown moldings, ensuite master bedroom and Viking appliances. However, to put their home over the top, Pearla hired a contractor to add a Trex deck for entertaining and purchased an outdoor fireplace, lounge chairs, and a high-end grill for Cash to barbeque for their family and friends. Next Pearla went all out and hired an interior designer who furnished the home with designer furniture, Per
sian rugs, and expensive Parisian paintings. When the designer was through their home looked as if it belonged in a magazine. There was one last thing Pearla bought to add a personal touch, which was an outdoor bronze plaque that read: The House that Hustle Built, Circa 2014. When Cash came home and saw it he had a good laugh.

  They toasted to their success and then fucked their brains out in each room, blessing the house with their love.

  “We did it, baby,” Cash said, smiling brightly.

  “Yes, we did, and I’m proud of you, Cash. You stepped up like a man should.”

  Cash beamed. It felt good being praised by his queen.

  “When do you head back to Miami?”

  “In a few days.”

  Pearla nodded. One day, she planned on taking the trip with him into the Sunshine State to get some rest and relaxation, but at the moment, she was too busy to step away from anything. Everything needed her attention, and her girls needed her guidance. With the boosting, credit card scams, illegal marriages, a little bit of extortion, and her escort agency blossoming, she felt like Magic Johnson.

  The investigation of Jamie’s murder had reached a brick wall, and was becoming more of a cold case with every passing day.

  As Cash shared an intimate moment with Pearla, Perez was in the back of his mind. He didn’t tell Pearla about it, because he wanted to handle it on his own. Two weeks had passed since their meeting, and Cash had chosen to ignore the threat and take his chances.

  Fuck it! After coming this far, he wasn’t about to share or lose out on his money-making scheme. Getting Perez involved would only complicate and fuck things up.

  As the two were about to soak themselves into the Jacuzzi and become intimate, Cash’s cell phone rang. He sighed, wondering who could be calling him at night. He wanted to ignore it, but something in his gut made him answer the phone call.

  “Who this?” he abruptly answered.